Nilsen used to operate under the nom de disque Hazard, which proffered something of an appropriate explanation for the precipitous, shapeshifting drones that are his stock-in-trade. Nilsen records aren't particularly distinguishable from those of his alias'; both host contradictory degrees of static/non-static atmospheres, dense "situationist" music that establishes mood, suggesting landscapes often incorporeal and usually glimpsed only in dreamlike fantasia, yet their very elusiveness is what makes Nilsen's work unique amongst the legion of amorphous dronemeisters in operation.
Reflecting off cover designer Jon Wozencroft's usual stark, dramatic photography (an abandonded mill or 19th century place of worship), The Short Night drinks deep of rural England nostalgia and time-locked geography. Nilsen fabricates his immersive tracts of sound from location recordings made all over the world, from areas as far-flung as remote Iceland to more "familiar" bucolic climes such as Berkshire, England and across rustic Irish greenbelts. Processed, incorporated, and well-blended via soft synths and a gaggle of well-worn hardware just as "antiquated" as the scapes being soft-focused, Nilsen allows his seven works to unfold like early morning foliage, the willing participant immediately becoming lost in the ensuing miasma. Everything isn't simply a whitewash of beer and skittles, though: on face, these pieces exude a minimalist air, but listen closely and much can be discerned, whether it's the humming of faraway metals against prickly acid rain ("Front"), or vibrantly trolling, chilly swathes of machine-made discontent ("Pole of Inaccessibility," which keeps at considerable arm's length any notions of user-friendly "new drone age" lassitude).
Viking imagery abounds, too, of all things: "Viking, Cromarty..." really does evoke rocky, windswept coastlines and the impending crash of warriors on the shore, grey, monochromatic vistas of lulling electronics that speak of ancient, Tolkien-smudged landmasses. On the return journey, specifically across the lengthy closer "Viking North," it's the sound of a battle's aftermath, pockets of earth crackling with morning frost, as Nilsen spins little synthetic eddies that signal distress afoot in the Nordic wasteland. Beautifully painted, rendered along shrill electronics whose rising edifices conjure the remnants of civilizations on the eve of collapse, The Short Night is some wondrous stuff, demonstrating Nilsen's aptitude for illustrating vivid sonic portraiture.
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